


Jealousy

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (Actually Aramis Begs For It), Angst, Entirely consensual, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Foreplay, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spoilers Through to 1x08, Srsly Folks It's Three-quarters Foreplay, Waaay Too Much Foreplay, You're Gonna End Up As Frustrated As Aramis, rough anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: In which Athos kisses Aramis, Aramis wants it rough, and Porthos teaches Aramis the meaning of jealousy. Or: the one where Aramis's taste for violence is too much for Porthos, and Aramis realises too late that he's fallen in love.The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the earlier ones to enjoy this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 1x08 (The Challenge).

Aramis strolled towards Madame Marchand's, breathing in the scent of the beeswax he'd used to style his beard. He'd put on his favourite shirt for the assignation: pure white linen with lace at the collar and cuffs. He curled the ends of his moustache, smiling. He knew how good he looked.

He turned the corner and halted. Athos stood in front of him, leaning against a wall, head down.

"Athos?" Aramis asked.

Athos spun, his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes wide. He stilled when he recognised Aramis. Aramis closed the gap between them, expecting to be overpowered by alcohol fumes. Instead, Athos smelt of jasmine. Aramis looked closely at him. Athos stood without swaying; his gaze was intense. He hadn't been drinking. He placed his right hand flat on Aramis's chest and shoved him back into the wall. Aramis's heart pounded. 

Athos angled his head and leant towards Aramis, slow enough that Aramis could have stopped him. Aramis didn't. He wrapped his arms around Athos and pulled him into a kiss. Athos thrust his tongue into Aramis's mouth and kissed as if he planned to fuck Aramis then and there. Aramis loved the idea. He pressed himself into Athos, his thigh grinding against Athos's hard cock. Athos curled a gloved hand around Aramis's nape. Aramis moaned into Athos's mouth. He'd dreamt of this for so long. He circled his hips; his own cock hastening to attention. Athos was rock hard.

 _That's not all for me,_ Aramis realised. Athos was way too aroused. _Something happened to Athos before I arrived._

Aramis mentally shrugged, and closed his teeth around Athos's bottom lip. He didn't care who else Athos did. Athos gasped and pulled Aramis's hair. Aramis ran his hand up Athos's hip, cupped his ass, and pulled him in tighter.

They broke the kiss, both breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes.

"You were going somewhere," Athos said. 

"Madame Marchand can wait. Her lapdogs will keep her company. Speaking of company, who left you in this state?" Aramis flexed his thigh as he spoke, pressing into Athos's cock. Heat flooded through him.

Athos pulled back, his gaze turning distant. 

"The past," Athos said. He stepped away and tilted his head in a minimal goodbye. "Aramis."

"Athos."

Aramis let his head fall back against the wall. He breathed deeply, waiting for his racing pulse to slow. The encounter had gone remarkably well. He smiled to himself. It would only be a matter of time before Athos came back for more.

He looked down at his cock, wondering whether to take himself in hand or save it for Madame Marchand. Save it, he decided. The thought of Athos would add savour to his rendezvous. He had no problem with mixing and matching his foreplay.

# # #

Aramis strolled into the Garrison courtyard a few minutes after sunrise. Porthos, sitting alone, flashed a broad grin. A full purse on the table in front of him suggested his fishing expedition had gone well.

"I've had it with foreplay," Aramis said, sliding onto the bench next to Porthos. 

"Bollocks. You love foreplay."

"There's a limit." Aramis stuck his tongue out, wincing, and went cross-eyed trying to look at it. "Is my tongue swollen? I think I've sprained it."

Porthos laughed. "Did the lady appreciate your efforts?"

"She's promised to charm the thirty livres from her husband today. I'm to go back tonight..." Aramis dropped his head into his hands. Seduction, done properly, was exhausting. "I doubt I'll manage another four goes."

"You never do me four times a night," Porthos said.

Aramis looked sideways at Porthos, thought back over the previous couple of weeks, and raised an eyebrow.

"Chantilly doesn't count," Porthos said. "That was a night and most of the following morning."

Aramis folded his arms and stayed quiet, forcing Porthos to keep thinking. A smile spread across Porthos's face, warmer than the morning sun.

"Oh, yeah," Porthos said. "There _was_ Beauvais. You were insatiable in Beauvais." 

" _And_ we got some sleep," Aramis said, leaning into Porthos, "instead of spending the entire night in interminable pillow talk." He nodded at Porthos's purse. "How did you get on with your widow?"

"Alice," Porthos said, an unfamiliar tone in his voice. _Defensiveness?_ "I gained the money without getting anywhere near her pillows. I'm going back tonight."

No, not defensiveness. _Affection._

Porthos looked around, checking they were still alone, and leaned across. He pushed a lock of Aramis's hair off his face with his little finger and kissed him tenderly.

 _Tenderly. That's how he'd kiss_ her. _Alice._

Aramis felt a shiver of something unfamiliar. He deepened the kiss, concentrating on Porthos and pushing the emotion down. The frisson of danger -- they could be interrupted at any moment -- added an extra thrill.

Someone shouted on the Rue du Vieux-Colombier. Porthos shifted away. 

"How about something quick and violent in the stables?" Aramis asked. "No foreplay, no holding back."

Porthos frowned. "You adore foreplay."

"Not today, my friend." 

Footsteps echoed around the arched entrance. D'Artagnan strode towards them. Porthos winked at Aramis. 

"I'm gonna take that as a challenge," Porthos said. 

# # #

The next morning, Porthos still hadn't fucked Aramis. He'd turned the previous day's training session into public foreplay -- all come-hither looks and blatant displays of muscle.

Aramis had spent a second taxing night with Madame Marchand, arriving with his entry fee barely in time for the Musketeers' trials. He knew Porthos had been with his widow. With _Alice._

Something sharp clawed at Aramis's heart.

It didn't stop him aiming true in the shooting round. He gave Porthos a cheeky grin and a raise of his hat. Porthos responded by turning the wrestling round into a bravura show of power. Aramis stripped down to his shirt and leant against a column to watch, his mouth dry as his lover flaunted his strength. Beside him, Athos also leant into the column. He kept himself under strict control, but Aramis couldn't miss his fierce concentration and was close enough to hear Athos's indrawn breath when Porthos smiled in their direction.

Aramis didn't give Porthos any choice at the end of the day. He steered him out of the garrison before the others could drag them to the tavern. They hustled to Aramis's apartment. Porthos chuckled as Aramis slammed the door and pounced.

"You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that," Porthos said, batting Aramis's hands away from his buttons. 

"I won't wait a minute longer," Aramis said, unfastening his own coat and hoping Porthos would follow suit. "Don't even think about foreplay. Two days is more than enough." He unbuckled his weapons belts, shrugged the coat off and hopped to remove his boots and stockings. Porthos set aside his weapons, leaned on the door and watched. Aramis dropped his breeches and linens, peeled off his shirt, and waited, hands on his hips. 

Porthos, showing an uncharacteristic -- and frustrating -- amount of self-restraint, didn't move.

"You can't tell me you're not ready," Aramis said. "You enjoyed it as much as I did. Exhibiting yourself to me in front of everyone. In front of Athos. Who, incidentally, kissed me two nights ago and very much noticed your performance today."

Porthos pointedly looked Aramis up and down. His gaze scorched. Aramis trembled under it.

"I'm not the only exhibitionist," Porthos said. He put his hands behind his head, lounging against the door. His arousal showed only in his voice, several tones deeper than usual. "Tell me what you want."

Aramis considered. He wanted to give Porthos something his widow -- _Alice,_ damn her -- would not. And he wanted satisfaction without all the hard work. 

He wanted exactly what he'd asked for the previous day: quick and violent.

"I want you to fuck me," he said, retrieving the gun oil from his bandolier and pacing towards Porthos. "I don't want anything else." He reached Porthos and knelt in front of him. "No teasing, no preparation, absolutely no more foreplay." He unbuttoned Porthos's breeches, unlaced his linens, and eased his fully-erect cock out. "I want your cock oiled and inside me and I want it now." He poured gun oil into his right palm and rubbed his hands together to warm the oil. It smelt of lazy afternoons cleaning his pistol and heated nights fucking Porthos. "I want you to take me so brutally I scream." Porthos clenched his fists. Aramis wrapped his slippery palms around Porthos's cock. Porthos hissed in a breath. Aramis tightened his grip and stroked down. "I'll be so tight." Porthos's cock twitched. Aramis's voice turned husky. His cock ached to be touched. "I want the pain to melt into pleasure and I want to come so hard I scream." 

Porthos bent to retrieve the gun oil. "That's a lot of screaming. I'm not big on screaming."

Aramis looked up at Porthos. "You don't have to scream. I'll do it for both of us."

Porthos tangled his fingers in Aramis's hair. "I don't want to hurt you. I _never_ want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me." Porthos arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "Well, yes, alright, you'll hurt me, that's the point. But you won't do any damage. And I'm asking you to." Aramis sat back on his heels. " _Begging_ you."

Aramis stood, took Porthos's hand, and drew him towards the bed. He sat, then lay back, pulling Porthos down. His oil-slick hands left marks on Porthos's stained doublet; marks only he would ever notice. He spread his legs and wrapped them around Porthos, delighting in the feeling of skin against worn leather. He shivered as the nerve endings in his inner thighs tingled. The heat of Porthos's cock pressed into his stomach.

"Please, Porthos," Aramis said. "Fuck me now."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Porthos leant away. Aramis held his breath. Had he gone too far? He relaxed when Porthos tipped more gun oil into his hands, smeared it across his palms, and reached for Aramis. Porthos used one hand on his own cock and one hand on Aramis's ass, before lining himself up.

Aramis gasped as the tip of Porthos's cock nudged between his buttocks. Porthos grabbed Aramis's ankles and pulled his legs wide. Aramis stared into Porthos's eyes and moaned as Porthos gripped his waist.

"Now, Porthos. Please, now."

Porthos thrust.

It burned. 

Aramis made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream. 

Porthos stopped, his cock half-sheathed. His eyes were concerned.

"More," Aramis said. 

Porthos thrust again. This time Aramis screamed. It hurt. It was too much. It wasn't enough. 

It was delicious.

"Again," he begged.

Porthos pulled out; thrust in. Fire ran up Aramis's spine. Tingles shot up his neck. "Yes, Porthos. More."

Porthos tightened his hands around Aramis's waist and set up a punishing rhythm. The sensations were overwhelming. Aramis closed his eyes and lost himself in them. The ache of Porthos inside him. The slap of Porthos's balls against his bare skin. The constraint of Porthos's hands around his waist. The surge of pleasure--

Aramis screamed as his orgasm hit.

He clenched around Porthos, and came all over his stomach. Porthos gasped, his rhythm stuttering to a halt. He moaned as he came inside Aramis. Aramis whimpered. 

"Porthos," he breathed. "God, yes, Porthos, my love..."

Porthos pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Aramis, not quite touching. Aramis, eyes shut, rolled to spread-eagle himself on top of Porthos. His breath rasped. His ass throbbed. 

Porthos lay still.

Aramis nuzzled into the curve between Porthos's shoulder and his neck.

Porthos didn't respond.

Aramis opened his eyes. Porthos was staring at the ceiling, his expression stony. Aramis levered himself onto one elbow.

"You alright?"

Porthos pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, tucked his cock away, and fastened his linens and breeches. His hands shook.

"Porthos?" Aramis said.

Porthos turned to him. "I will never do that again," he said. He stood, picked up his weapons, and left, closing the door gently behind him. 

Never do _what_ again? Never fuck Aramis? _Never?_

Aramis blinked back tears. He couldn't allow himself to consider that. 

Never so roughly? That must be what Porthos meant. Aramis should have known better. How many times had Porthos refused to hurt him in the past? Aramis had always liked an edge of violence; Porthos had always objected.

Why had Aramis insisted this time? It was something to do with Porthos's widow. _Alice._ Something about how Porthos spoke about her; the softness in his eyes when he said her name.

_Why does she bother me so much?_

He and Porthos had always had other lovers. Women, men; separately and together. Why was this different? Had something changed?

Aramis pictured Porthos leaving. His chest tightened. It hurt much more than the sex had. 

He'd only suffered like this once in his life.

_Fuck._

Aramis curled up as the realisation hit him: he'd fallen in love with one of his best friends. 

He felt about Porthos the way he had felt about Isabelle and no-one since. He loved Porthos. Not exclusively -- he couldn't imagine only loving one person -- but profoundly. Porthos was the one he couldn't do without. The one he would always come back to. The one he needed, forever.

The one who had just walked out to start a new life with a beautiful, rich widow.

_Fuck._

# # # 

Porthos brought Alice to the contest. Aramis watched them after D'Artagnan's victory. He felt hollow inside; a shell of himself. Alice kissed Porthos. Aramis's soul withered. 

"So," he said, "will you marry the lovely widow... Alice?"

He expected the worst. He had no idea how he'd bear it. 

"Who would look after you if I did that, eh?" Porthos said.

Aramis's knees nearly buckled. Relief washed through him. He reached for Porthos -- awkwardly; all too aware that Porthos might not yet be ready to touch him.

Porthos leaned into the caress.

Aramis's soul sang exaltation.


End file.
